


YOU CALM THE STORMS AND YOU GIVE ME REST

by BandWurks (TopherIsATribble)



Category: Shinedown (Band)
Genre: Cocaine, Depression, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopherIsATribble/pseuds/BandWurks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brent fights with himself one night through his pain. Can a certain bassist help him through his struggle? Title from the song Everything by Lifehouse, inspired specifically by the live in studio version from the deluxe version of Smoke and Mirrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	YOU CALM THE STORMS AND YOU GIVE ME REST

A soft sigh escaped Brent’s lips as he slumped against the wall.

He had been fighting this, for so long, fighting to hold on to his sobriety, to keep his sanity, his strength together. He had been struggling daily with the desire to go back, to the drugs that both numbed him and gave him energy, that kept him together and yet tore him apart so beautifully. The drugs that had destroyed his life just eight years earlier that he had had to fight so hard to pull away from.

And now he had a small bit of coke in his possession.

It wasn’t much, enough for one hit, one small high that he knew would fade fast and leave him crashing harder than he ever had now that he hadn’t had any in over eight years. His body hadn’t lost its dependency, not fully, at least, if this desire and possession was anything to go by, but he had almost certainly lost his high tolerance, and what had once been one hit for him might be too much. It wasn’t like the concept was foreign; Brent had heard of musicians who had lost their tolerance after a while sober going back to the drugs and overdosing on their old dose. He knew fully well that this could happen, and yet his body and mind were begging him to take the risk anyway.

He looked at the tiny baggie that had been previously in his hand, now on the floor, still sealed tightly so none of the snow inside fell out and wasted onto the floor. He hadn’t taken any yet, right? It was just one hit. One hit, and he could break his longtime sobriety. One hit and he could feel that rush again. One hit and he could bring back his addiction full-fledged to the monster it had been previously that destroyed him until he had gotten sober. One hit and he could feel the energizing effects of the coke on his will to live and the numbing effects on his depression, which had come back to hit him so hard lately. One hit? Only one hit? Well, one hit was not much to bargain against at all, right? The worst thing that could happen would be that he could die.

The angel and devil on his shoulders fought back and forth, a bellowing in his head that he wanted so badly to stop, to ignore, as tears began to roll down his cheeks and the silence fell to his own sobs. He was in so much pain, not physically, really, but his emotional state was killing him inside. He had no explanation for his depression, why it had set in; he was playing to lovely crowds and meeting amazing people almost every night; he was successful in the career he had always wanted; he had an amazing band that he loved so much… His depression really had no explanation other than that it was there, and he hated that.

Cocaine was his drug of choice because it was such a beautiful oxymoron. It numbed the pain like a downer, but it was an upper, and so it gave him the energy to continue on and face another day. It had been so hard to quit, when he had; the withdrawals alone had nearly killed him. Between that and the Oxy, he hadn’t been in pain while he was on the drugs. Or, well, he had, but he had numbed it enough to be able to ignore it and not have to deal with it. But that had changed when the drugs had destroyed his life and he had had to get off of them, had to learn to face his demons. And so he had, for almost 8 years now.

But now, the baggie of cocaine tempted him. He recounted the events of the night in his head; they had gone to a bar that night to celebrate the successful end of a tour before they got a short break. It was busy as hell, a party night with several people from the show there. It was too loud for Brent to think at one point, and so he had headed to the bathroom for a moment to take a piss and gather his thoughts. And once in there, he saw someone doing a line, and he had frozen. The man doing the line had apparently recognized him, but had no knowledge of Brent’s history with drugs and sobriety, and had offered him some at a discounted price. Brent had gulped, fighting himself before paying for a line and leaving, ending up here on the bus, where he sat now, fighting over whether to snort the cocaine he had or not.

More tears escaped Brent as he stared at the baggie, swallowing. He picked it up, running his fingers over it, wanting to so badly but knowing it would destroy everything he had worked for for the past 8 years, that had led to The Sound of Madness, Amaryllis, and now the new album they were working on. And he fought it, fought so hard, and let the baggie fall from his hand to the floor of the tour bus once more, everyone either partying inside or off doing their own things.

As tears blurred his vision, Brent pulled out his near-dead cell phone, scrolling through his contacts. He picked one, unsure of who, as his vision blurred, preventing him from being able to read. He listened to it ring, hearing a voice pick up just before it went to voicemail.

“Brent?” Came Eric’s voice from the other end. “Are you okay?” Brent fought sobs, swallowing. When no answer came, Eric asked again. “Brent. Are you okay?”

“No. No. I’m not okay… Eric, I need you… You’re the first person I picked, I… I’m on the bus, I need you.”

Eric’s voice changed. “I’ll be right there, Brent, give me a few.” His voice was worried. “Stay on the line for me?”

Brent choked back a sob. “My phone is about to-“ and the line cut off as Brent finished his sentence to himself, “die.” He fell into sobs once more, panicking as he stared at the baggie of cocaine, hoping like hell it wouldn’t be too long until Eric arrived. And it felt like forever, the three minutes it took for Eric to close out his tab and run to the bus.

“Brent?!” Eric asked as he saw Brent slumped against the wall, sobbing. “Brent, what’s wrong?” And Eric watched as Brent’s eyes fell to the baggie on the floor, then both of them made eye contact, and Brent knew that Eric now understood what was wrong.

“Have you done any?” Eric asked Brent, Brent shaking his head. “That’s good,” Eric murmured, sitting beside Brent. He took the baggie away, stowed it in his pocket until he could get Brent calmed down and get rid of it. 

“I want to, so badly, Eric,” Brent sobbed, feeling both utterly worthless and in pain. “I want something, anything to stop this pain, anything… I’m so tired of the depression, of the hurt, of sobriety with nothing to help… Of feeling love for someone I know isn’t in love with me… I’m so tired, so broken, and… I wanted to numb it, but I wanted the strength to go on, and-“

“Shh, Brent,” Eric shushed him gently. He took note of everything Brent had said. “We can get you help for the pain, Brent… We should get you help… You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve been sober for damn near eight years, and Brent, I’m not going to let you break that, not tonight. I’m so glad you called me, so I could come and help you. And… As for being in love, Brent… I think that if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, and even if that person isn’t in love with you, I doubt they’ll judge you for it.” He pulled Brent close, hugging him tight. “How about I help you flush this and then we get you into bed?”

Brent hesitated at Eric’s question as Eric hugged him tight. “I… What if they do, Eric? I… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself…”

“Then they aren’t worth your love, Brent,” Eric said simply. “You’re an amazing man and anyone would be lucky to love you. Now let’s go flush this.” 

Brent hesitated before nodding. “We can flush it… I’m sorry I called you,” he murmured to Eric. “I should have been strong enough not to even buy it…” 

“Shh…” Eric hushed Brent again. “You were strong. You didn’t use it, and you called for help. That’s strength in itself.” He hugged Brent tighter a moment before pulling away to stand, offering a hand out to Brent to help him stand as well.

Brent swallowed before taking Eric’s hand and standing, more tears falling as he pulled Eric into a needy hug once more. “Thank you, for coming,” he murmured, swallowing, fully aware now of why his fingers had fallen upon Eric’s name.

“Of course,” Eric said, leading Brent to the toilet and standing beside him, handing him the baggie, setting a gentle hand upon his shoulder to comfort him. “Now… Pour and flush… I know you’ve done it before and you can do it now.”

Brent swallowed as he stared at the baggie in his hand, fighting the urge, knowing he wanted to use it so bad. He turned it over in his fingers, silence except for the arguing in his head and the blood rushing through his ears as he felt Eric’s hand gently begin to run up and down his back. He knew Eric knew he had to make the choice himself, and Brent swallowed once more, forcing himself to take the hand running up and down his back as encouragement as he opened the baggie and reached out to pour it in the toilet and flush. The baggie itself was taken to the sink and rinsed so no trace of the cocaine remained before being thrown into the trash beside the toilet. Brent washed his hands, moving almost on autopilot, like a robot being controlled, dead inside.

After a moment, more tears fell, and Brent moved to pull Eric into a hug, which Eric reciprocated quickly. Brent could hear the words of comfort and encouragement that Eric was murmuring to him, but couldn’t really make them out and piece them together. He continued to cry softly, until his tears slowed and finally stopped, his tear ducts running dry.

“There you go,” Eric murmured, holding Brent close. “We should get you to bed…” He pulled Brent gently to the bunks, helping him to lay down. “It’s okay… You should sleep… You just did something so hard and you did so well, Brent, and I’m so glad you called me…” And as he tucked Brent in, Eric stood and moved to leave.

“No! Eric, please… Please don’t leave me… I need you… Just… Come lay with me, I just want to be hugged, I’m sorry, I just… I need you.” Brent bit his lip, watching Eric hesitate before nodding softly and climbing in beside Brent, holding him close.

Brent swallowed as Eric did so, finally feeling like he could breathe. “Thank you… For staying,” he murmured softly.

Eric nodded. “Of course Brent.”

Brent sighed softly, finally relaxing a bit. “I love you, Eric,” he murmured.

“I love you too, Brent… You’re my brother, and my friend, and my family.”

Brent tensed at Eric’s words before shrinking inward, discouraged that Eric hadn’t understood. “No, Eric, I… I love you.” And Brent bit his lip before moving to kiss Eric, fighting as more tears fell and he pulled away. “I’m so sorry…”

Eric froze, stunned. “No, Brent…. Don’t be sorry… I… I do love you… I love you too… I just… Didn’t know if you loved someone else…” He pulled Brent into another kiss.

Brent blinked, surprised, before kissing Eric back deeply, needily, more tears falling. “I’m so in love with you,” he murmured, burying his face against Eric’s chest, breathing deep, exhausted. He sighed once more. “Thank you for helping me stay clean…” he trailed off as his eyes closed, falling asleep.

And Eric murmured once more as he held Brent close, letting him rest. “Anything for you, Brent, my love…” And he too trailed off as he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around his singer.


End file.
